


Stuck

by LostChanceTo



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: I'm Sorry, Kinda, M/M, but it's whatever, it's all chill here, it's rated teen and up for mentions of doing the do but like, nothing happens, the pacing is - as always - shit, there's nothing there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 13:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostChanceTo/pseuds/LostChanceTo
Summary: Tailgate reset his voice module.  “Cyclonus’ uh, Cylonus’ tongue is in my mouth. My lack of a mouth. My weird nonstandard mouth. Which has grinders inside.”





	Stuck

Ratchet stepped into hab.suite 14. He turned right back around at the sight of the occupants kissing. He didn’t have time for this.

 

“No! Ratchet, wait!” Tailgate yelled. Ratchet turned to find Cyclonus’ optics on him, his lips motionless against Tailgate. The minibot sat in Cyclonus’ arms, one servo on his shoulder, the other flapping in Ratchet’s direction. “We’re uh, we need some help.”

 

“You look fine to me,” Ratchet said slowly. Cyclonus held out a servo as well and - now that Ratchet was thinking about it, it was strange that they were sitting like that, despite his presence in the room. He took a step further in. The door closed behind him, like it was trapping him in a prison. Or something.

 

“We’re stuck,” Tailgate said quietly. Ratchet dropped his optics to Tailgate and Cyclonus’ panels, fully expecting Cyclonus to be lodged too far inside Tailgate, but their panels were closed. Tailgate reset his voice module.  “Cyclonus’ uh, Cylonus’ tongue is in my mouth. My lack of a mouth. My weird nonstandard mouth. Which has grinders inside.”

 

Cyclonus grunted against Tailgate’s faceplates and just now Ratchet realized that Tailgate’s mouth cover was down. Cyclonus’ mouth was parted. Ratchet could see hints of Cyclonus’ tongue.

 

“Primus save you,” Ratchet mumbled, a saying he’d picked up off of Drift’s near constant prayers. Cyclonus’ optics widened and his EM Field flashed with something similar to alarm before he snapped it close to his plating. He mumbled something fast and garbled against Tailgate, his tongue jerking. A terrible grating came from Tailgate’s throat and Cyclonus froze.

 

“I’m sorry!” Tailgate squeaked, little servos flying up to rub at Cyclonus’ cheekbones and at his tongue through the holes of his cheeks. Cyclonus steadied himself and relaxed in increments.

 

“Alright, I can see why you wanted me to come here,” Ratchet said and stepped forwards. He didn’t dare touch either of them as he inspected the seams of Tailgate’s head. Ratchet wished, somewhere in his spark of sparks, that Tailgate was cold constructed so Ratchet could just find his blueprints.

 

“Can you fix us?” Tailgate said. He had an external voice module, Ratchet knew from previous check ups, and that was probably the only reason the two of them had bothered to contact him. Ratchet assumed Cyclonus would rather mangle his tongue tearing himself from Tailgate rather than submit himself to such humiliation as a trip to the medbay. Drift was like that sometimes too, in his Circle Moods.

 

(Or so Ratchet called them. It was when he felt he didn’t match up the Circle of Light’s standards and tried to push himself into being more honorable and rigid. Ratchet didn’t hate it, but he didn’t like it either. It was a lot of unneeded stress, for the both of them.)

 

“I’m going to have to remove some of your plating,” Ratchet said, voice purposely disinterested. If Tailgate figured out how delicate this procedure would be. . . Tailgate mumbled in agreement and Ratchet set about his work. “How’d his tongue get far enough to touch your grinding mechanisms?”

 

“We, uh,” Tailgate patted Cyclonus’ horn and Cyclonus’ engine whined. Tailgate paused, Cyclonus grabbed his servo and squeezed it. “It’s fun to kiss. We do it a lot. I’m usually able to control my gears? Cyclonus just - I lost control for a second. I guess.”

 

The inner workings of Tailgate’s throat was easy enough to follow. There was his mouth. There was the outer lining of his intake. There was the bulge of Cyclonus’ tongue  _ in _ Tailgate’s intake. Ratchet hated his job.

 

But he could also see where the intake connected to his mouth and Ratchet was sure he could disconnect them without hurting Tailgate so much. Ratchet rolled his shoulders and ejected a cord from his shoulder. He took Tailgate’s servos and tapped on the cover. Tailgate snapped it back and Ratchet plugged in, requested and subsequently received medical access. Tailgate had always been good about just allowing Ratchet full control of his systems. Ratchet popped out another cord.

 

Cyclonus mumbled a protest. Ratchet leveled an unimpressed look on him and a panel on Cyclonus’ upper arm slid back near silently. Ratchet plugged in and had to input a medical override before Cyclonus could set up too many firewalls. Stubborn slagger.

 

Ratchet rearranged his HUD to how he liked it when working on awake patients - emotional and pain readings on the upper left, diagnostics on the the upper right, the bottom a steady stream of thoughts and light interfacing ( _ cyclonus we can talk thru ratchet??? _ ~~ Apparently so. ~~ ), with the center free for him to see through - and got to work.

 

Three hours, two insanely delicate procedures, and a single continuous stream of Cyclonus and Tailgate’s chatter later, and Ratchet finally screwed Tailgate’s outer plating back into place. Ratchet pulled his cabels out and wound them back into their slots. Cyclonus couldn’t make optic contact with Ratchet.

 

“Thank you,” Tailgate said sincerely. Ratchet waved off his thanks, focused on Cyclonus. Cyclonus’ optics flickered up to meet his then dropped to where Tailgate clutched his servo.

 

“You gonna need a pain suppressant?” Ratchet asked, and meant  _ are you going to be ok? _

 

“No,” Cyclonus said, and meant  _ I’m fine _ .

 

Ratchet eyed him but took his word for it. He packed himself up and made for the door. A thought occurred to him and he turned to say it and -

 

Cyclonus’ tongue was back in Tailgate’s not-mouth as they kissed passionately, panels already popping open.

 

Ratchet threw up his servos and stormed out. He didn’t have time for this slag. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading please leave a comment i love you it's 1:45am i'm going back to sleep now


End file.
